


Leave Our Note In The Old Oak Tree

by rhink_is_my_kink



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Rhett McLaughlin, Come Swallowing, Come as Lube, Dubious Consent, Fairy Tale Elements, Forced Orgasm, Hand Jobs, M/M, Magical Bond, Top Link Neal, Wing Worship, alcohol consumption, au where link neal is a fairy, college student rhett mclaughlin, enchanted beverage, fairy link neal, no beta we die like men, rhink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26720548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhink_is_my_kink/pseuds/rhink_is_my_kink
Summary: Rhett meets a mysterious boy at a frat party.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Comments: 10
Kudos: 31





	Leave Our Note In The Old Oak Tree

**Author's Note:**

> 2020 has been rude af y'all. And writer's block is a bitch.
> 
> Title is from Across the Sea, by The Sweeplings  
>  _Leave our note in the old oak tree  
>  Carve it deep so they all can read  
> The only thing of us that's left behind  
> Are the words we left here in those few lines_
> 
> I kinda played fast and loose with fairy lore here. I hope you can forgive me.

Rhett sees those penetrating blue eyes over the rim of a red solo cup containing his third beer of the evening. One would expect to see a blue that clear and pure while contemplating the sky, or swimming in tropical ocean waters. It was quite a shock to find those eyes gazing at you across a dim, strobe-lit, smoke-hazy frat house.

Catching those eyes watching him sends a strange thrill through his body. An odd and intimate sensation ripples over him, like having every part of his body—inside and out—stroked at the same time. It was phenomenally pleasant, but intensely overwhelming. His mind works overtime to parse the sensation, even as the room shrinks to a flashing pinpoint, and his head strikes the hardwood floor.

* * *

He shakes his way free of the darkness only to find stars painted across his vision, and dew soaking into his t-shirt and jeans. Cool fingers smooth delicately over his brow, then take his hand to help him sit up. 

He discovers the owner of those crystalline eyes standing before him. A thin, broad-shouldered boy, with dark hair and a crooked smile greets him, explaining that Rhett passed out at the party, and was now sitting on the lawn in front of the frat house.

“I had to carry you outside. People were stepping on you like they didn’t even see you,” the boy explains. His voice is deep and musical.

“That sounds pretty typical for this crowd. Thanks, man. I owe you one. I’m Rhett.”

A lopsided grin breaks over the boy's face, revealing charmingly crooked teeth. “I’m Link. NIce to meetcha.”

Link never seems to stop moving. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, his weight dancing from one foot to the other; long fingers toying with his hair, or plucking at the design on his t-shirt; his wide shoulders rocking to music carried to Rhett’s ear by the breeze. He’s very animated, but those glacier-colored eyes rarely stray from Rhett’s form. 

“You’ve, uhh…” Rhett stammers, suddenly tongue-tied. “Your eyes. You’ve got nice eyes.”

“Do you wanna grab a beer?”

“Gosh, yeah. That’d be great,” Rhett couldn’t have gone back into the party if he tried. 

* * *

Link leads Rhett through the woods to a tiny house situated in a circular clearing in the trees. Rhett hardly notices the strangeness of the situation. He’s too busy marveling at the compact wings that are tucked neatly against Link’s back, framing his spine on either side. They look like dragonfly wings. They hang limply, but are somehow alive in the moonlight; a shifting rainbow of colors dance over them, dazzling Rhett. 

Rhett finally concludes that Link must be one of the theater kids who are always wandering around campus. They show up for class in voluminous Victorian gowns; eat lunch wearing dramatically coiffed wigs; or stroll around the dorms in glittering crowns, elaborate body paint, or even, in Link’s case, wings. Halloween is months away, but the theater kids never needed a reason to raid the department’s prop room for something to make the school day a little more unusual.

He’s still trying to figure out how the wings attach to Link’s broad back without any strap or harness, when he suddenly finds himself sitting on a threadbare sofa. Link is pushing a forest-green bottle into his hand. Rhett looks for a label, and finds nothing on the smooth glass except for a cloudy sheen of condensation. 

“You must be a home brewer,” Rhett chuckles. “My dad was into that for a while.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. Home brew…” Link trails off, distractedly. 

Rhett catches a whiff of the liquid. It smells like spring: green and sweet, like warm breezes through open windows, and silver chimes tinkling gently in the wind that tickles your skin.

“Wow…” he sounds dazed, and can’t seem to corral his racing thoughts.

“Huh? Oh yeah. It’s mead. A little different than beer, but I think you’ll like it. Just... give it a taste.” 

Rhett glances at Link, and Link’s face is dark, and…  _ hungry _ . Rhett would have sworn under oath that Link’s mouth was full of sharp, carnivorous teeth where his lips were parted. Rhett remembered the teeth being slightly jumbled before, but now they looked like the teeth of a predator that wanted to bite and chew, and never let go.

His eyes dip back down to the bottle, where little droplets are slipping down the smooth surface, trailing chilly lines over his knuckles. He looks up at Link again, and sees just what he remembers from before: a wide, angled grin, full of teeth that should have seen braces in his teens, but hadn’t. He didn’t see the predatory smile anymore. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he’d seen it in the first place.

The smell of Link’s mead washes over him again, and the rim of the bottle is brushing against his bottom lip. Link’s breath tickles over his cheek. He’s peripherally aware that the boy is suddenly  _ very _ close to him, The heat from his body is like being too close to a wood stove.

The liquid courses over his lip, inexorably drawn into Rhett, as if he were a planet with his own gravitational pull. His world shifts when the rich liquid hits his stomach. As if a lens has been dropped over his eyes, and suddenly everything in the room is brighter, shinier and much more intense. The full body caress he felt at the party earlier is back, stronger and more insistent, and every bit as overwhelming as it was before. His consciousness doesn’t flee this time, he’s mercilessly held there, bathed in overpowering sensations.

Link chuckles darkly in Rhett’s ear. Rubs a hand over the dark stubble dusted along his sharp jawline. “I have been watching you for weeks, Rhett.”

Rhett turns drunkenly to look at Link, and is struck dumb at the image of Link before him. He finds a brand new Link, vastly different from the bouncy party-goer he’d met outside the frat house, or the sharp-toothed animal he’d had a glance of a moment ago. In the same spot a lanky, dark-haired, bespectacled boy had sat no more than a moment ago, there was now a demigod, sculpted in rich wood and radiant sunbeams, ethereal and bathed in beauty. 

_ But, he isn’t human though, _ Rhett realizes. The most clear and present indication of this is the translucent theater-prop wings he had noticed in the light of the full moon. Previously they were tucked against Link’s back, hanging lifeless as Rhett had perceived them: nothing more than a costume crafted from wire and plastic. Now they fan out on either side of his wide shoulders, flapping languidly, conjuring a breeze that smells comforting and warm. Fresh air, and endless forests, and an earthly musk. It smells like home, and Rhett wants to roll around in the scent until it covers him from head to toe, so that this perfume fills his lungs until they give out and death pulls him under.

Try as he might, Rhett can’t form a coherent sentence. He is perfectly aware, his mind racing with thoughts he can’t articulate. It’s like being sloppy drunk and stone-cold sober all at the same time.

Link’s hand is on his thigh, rubbing rhythmic circles over the rough denim. The tiny gesture is an all-out assault on Rhett’s senses. He can feel the way the fibers of the denim catch and manipulate his leg hairs in the wake of Link’s thumb, and the way the loops and whorls of Link’s fingerprint ensnare the coarse denim, working it around and around in a soothing cadence. His entire mind and every cell in his body resonates with the soft strum of Link’s agile fingers over the dark material. It’s hypnotic, and seductive.

“It’s okay. You don’t need to talk right now. You’re just a little overwhelmed. It will pass shortly. The first taste of our food and drink always rattles you mortals a little, but you’ll get used to in no time.” Link’s low melodious voice is so easy to focus on. His words are sonorous notes of music that circle around Rhett, nearly corporeal in the bright space between them.

“Whazzathhh…” Rhett buzzes ineffectively. His tongue feels too big for his mouth. 

Link gently coaxes the bottle out of Rhett’s fingers, and sets it aside. He slides off the couch and onto his knees, and slips into the space between Rhett’s thighs. Long, nimble fingers stroke over Rhett’s auburn beard reverently. 

“I have Rhett. I’ve watched you for weeks. So beautiful. The way you move, such grace and power in those long limbs, it’s almost as if you’re one of us.” Link’s crystalline eyes search Rhett’s face. Having waited so long to gaze upon it, Link’s eyes are hungry, his gaze covetous. 

“God, I wanted you to be mine. So desperately I waited and hoped for a chance to claim you. And here you are. Every bit as perfect as you seemed from a distance, and every bit of you is mine now Rhett. You belong to  _ me _ . You won’t forget that, will you?” 

Words still elude him, but deep within him, even though he doesn’t know  _ why _ , he still knows it to be true: he is Link’s, and every cell in his body screams it. He nods his head with all the conviction he can muster.

Link’s plush lips graze softly against Rhett’s. The small point of contact sends tremors down his spine. Rhett longs to deepen the kiss, but the best he can do is wrap his shaky fingers around Link’s sharp jaw and hold on for dear life. The imprecision of his touch mortifies him next to the intentional way Link uses his body. The extravagance of Link’s touch feels like a gift, and Rhett treasures it as if it is.

Link’s kinesthetic awareness is so otherworldly Rhett wonders why he didn’t notice it the moment he met the lanky boy. Every move Link makes is done with the least effort, but to the greatest effect. A thumb grazed along a collar bone tightens the skin on his chest, molding Rhett’s nipples into painfully hard peaks. The press of an elegant, but strong hand against his thigh, and Rhet’’s cock is harder than it’s ever been in his life, his boxer briefs suddenly sport a wet spot from an excited gush of precome. Every soft moan Link releases into their kiss makes Rhett fall in love with him afresh, until he begins to fear his heart may literally burst out of his chest in a rush to meet the object of its adoration. Every bit of praise that falls from Link’s soft lips makes Rhett sure he would tear his own body apart if Link willed it, just to hear one last whisper of appreciation tumble from that miraculous mouth.

Rhett’s body is an instrument, and Link uses it to play a symphony.

As Link kisses a trail down his neck Rhett thankfully discovers that the heaviness in his limbs is lifting, and he’s able to move more freely with each passing second. Gratefully, he dips his hand under Link’s t-shirt, and tentatively runs fingertips up the hard plane of Link’s flat stomach, and over his pecs. The callused fingertips of his left hand scrape ove Link’s nipple, and Link hisses.

Rhett quickly attempts to withdraw his hand, afraid that his rough guitar callouses have hurt Link’s tender flesh. Link’s hand grabs his wrist, viper-fast, and so tight Rhett can feel the delicate bones of his wrist grinding together.

“Don’t you dare stop, Rhett,” Link demands, his voice low, and thunderous. “Don’t you  _ ever _ stop touching me.” He shrugs his t-shirt off, and places Rhett’s hand back over his tit. When Rhett obediently continues to coarsely rub Link’s nipple with his fingertips the dark-haired boy purrs deep in his throat. 

“That’s a good boy, Rhett,” the praise drips from Link thick and sweet like honey, and the praise is intoxicating.

Finally Link draws away to remove Rhett’s shirt. His long-fingered hand reverently smooths over Rhet’s chest; tracing the shape of his nipples, savoring the texture of the rosy-pink buds when they draw hard and tight; short nails scritch through the sparse hair on Rhett’s chest, and follow the golden treasure trail, leaving off when it disappears into Rhett’s jeans; Link catalogs every single hair, mole, and freckle, pinning Rhett to the couch with nothing more than a gentle touch and endlessly hungry eyes.

His scrutiny makes Rhett shudder.

When Link opens the front of Rhett’s jeans the head of his cock pops out past the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs, to which Rhett huffs a relieved sigh. Link’s eyes jump from Rhett’s face to Rhett’s cock, and back. He finds Rhett colored with a vibrant blush, and beads of sweat dotting his forehead. His mouth is open to make way for his huffed breaths.

“What would you have me do to you?” Link asks playfully, squeezing Rhett’s thighs, a momentary flash of pain to focus his attention.

“Just touch me, please.”

Link cocks his head with a wry smile and squeezes Rhett’s thighs again, “But I  _ am _ touching you.” 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Rhett begs. “Just touch my fucking dick. Please,  _ god _ .”

“Aww,” Link tuts wryly. “No need to be so formal. You can just call me Link.”

Link’s lips close around the head of his cock, and Rhett forgets everything but Link’s name for a little while.

Link’s mouth shrouds his cock with hot, wet, rapturous sensation. His tongue swirls around the head, tracing the ridge that encircles his cock head, wriggling into the slit, as if he’s mapping every nook and cranny of Rhett’s anatomy. He hums his appreciation when a gush of precome blurts out onto his tongue. It’s a sound of gratitude—of outright worship—and he’s repaid with another slick spurt that he laps up with a thankful hum.

When he sinks down so Rhett’s entire length is completely sheathed in his throat, and his nose is buried in the red-blond curls at the base of Rhett’s cock, Rhett groans a curse. His hips buck and shudder, and Link encourages him with his mouth, and his hands. He leisurely slides his fuckable mouth over Rhett’s thick cock, until Rhett is desperate and fucking Link’s throat with single-minded intensity. 

Then Link pushes Rhett to the back of his throat, and halts there. Rhett squirms, and whines, and begs for mercy. Rhett’s fingers find Link’s hair and he tries to pull Link off of him, only to find him quite immovable. 

“I can’t. Not yet… pl-luh- _ ese _ …” He whoops in a breath, and tears sting his eyes. “I’m gonna come.  _ Please _ . Don’t wanna. Shit. So good. Not yet.  _ Oh, fuck _ .” 

The orgasm is pulled out of him with thunderous intensity. It lasts an impossibly long time, new waves of sensation pouring over him every time Link swallows around his cock. Rhett has never come this hard in his entire life. He’s already hopelessly addicted to Link’s mouth.

Oversensitive and to the point where he should be going soft, he is disoriented to discover he’s still hard and ready to go, as if he hadn’t just had a mind-blowing orgasm. 

Link pops Rhett’s cock out of his mouth, and grins up at him. His lips are spit-shiny, irresistibly red and swollen. “You can come all you want, Rhett. But you’re not done until  _ I _ say you’re done.”

He looks even more magical than he had before. His wings wave languidly, stirring a gentle gust around Rhett. The heady aroma surrounding Link has already imprinted a sense of home in Rhett’s head. And Rhett knows that Link’s words are the gospel truth. He can feel Link’s influence— _ just call it magic _ , he thinks to himself,  _ because that’s what it is _ —keeping him rock hard, and filling his balls until they hang heavy and ready to spill again, and again, and again if Link wills it. 

Rhett’s heart flip-flops in his chest. His jade eyes search Link’s face. Rhett doesn’t understand fairy magic. He didn’t grow up reading fantastical books about fairies, and magic. He grew up reading books about sports, and history. He knew nothing about spotting a glamor, or never eating or drinking something offered by a fairy. All he understands right now, is that the creature in front of him shines like the sun, and Rhett is willing to burn to ash if that’s what it takes to hold the golden boy before him.

Link is still on his knees between Rhett’s legs, peppering kisses all over Rhett’s chest. Rhett smoothes a hand over Link’s wide shoulders and broad back. His fingers shyly tease over the outer edges of Link’s back, giving the shimmery wings a wide berth. A pearlescent rainbow of colors shifts over their surface, every single movement producing a new array of colors and patterns.

Rhett softly makes a timid request. “Is it... would it be okay, if I, uhhm, if I touched your wings?” It feels like a weighty request. Intimate in a way nothing before this had been, his fingers ache to map the glimmering appendages.

Almost as soon as the question is out of his mouth Link has scrambled into his lap, wrapping his lean legs around Rhett’s torso. The languid strokes of the wings change and speed up to an erratic, inconsistent flapping, and Rhett flinches, worried he’d upset the boy. But Link shakes himself, and stills the gossamer-thin membranes. His bright blue eyes are wide and wild. He’s biting his lip when he replies in the same soft way Rhett had asked his question. “Sure. That… that’s fine with me.”

He leans into Rhett, pressing their chests together so Rhett can see over his shoulder, down the muscled expense of his back, to his narrow waist, over the pale curve of his plush ass. The muscles in his back shift slowly, and the wings give a slow flutter. Rhett touches him gingerly, worried of breaking the translucent membrane with his big hands. 

“They’re, ah, they aren’t for flying,” Link whispers into the damp skin of Rhett’s neck. “Uhm, not anymore, anyway. My grandparents used to fly, a long, long time ago. But we’re a lot more human than we used to be.”

Rhett’s fingers trace the bony protuberances along the edge of Link’s scapula, until he reaches the base of the wings. He pauses. Asks, “We…?”

“Fae, fairies.”

Finally he’s thinking clearly enough that it clicks, and Rhett recalls all the kids around campus with strange skin color, and quirky affectations. “So, the kids with the painted skin? And the theater outfits?! And the pointy ears! And…” he gazes down Link’s body, and finishes softly, “...wings.”

“Yeah. Only they  _ aren’t _ kids, their skin  _ isn’t _ painted, and the ears and stuff. It’s all real. These woods go on for miles and miles, and we’ve been in this area for thousands of years.” He shrugs. “We get bored easily. The college is a fun place to hide, and humans are so interesting.”

Rhett accepts this all very casually. Mesmerized by the play of light over Link’s beautiful wings, Rhett finally lets the pads of his fingers skim over the flat expanse of them. They’re silky soft, warm to the touch, and feel much sturdier than his eyes led him to believe.

“So, if you don’t fly, what are they for?”

“I dunno? I suppose they aren’t really  _ for _ anything.”

“They’re beautiful.” The awe Rhett feels bleeds into his voice, filling his words, and his voice with wonderment.

Link squeezes closer to him, “Thanks,” he breathes, “I guess they  _ are _ for something then.”

Rhett gently traces the silvery veins that run all over the wings, reverently worshipping their delicate beauty. Link gasps, and presses their bodies together. Their cocks slide against each other and they both groan.

Link’s agile fingers slip between their bodies and wrap around their dicks. Rhett breathes out a curse when Link starts jacking their cocks. They’re both leaking so much precome that it doesn’t take long for the tight friction to give way to a sensual glide and slick smacking sounds. 

Rhett’s nearly blinded by how good it feels to have Link’s strong, sure hand jerking them both, but he doesn’t stop touching Link’s wings. Sometimes he’ll hit a spot that makes Link wail a curse, or rock against Rhett, growling into his ear that he can’t wait to fuck him. 

The feeling of their cocks slipping against each other is a heady sensation. And sooner than he’d like, he’s breathily announcing to Link that he’s going to come. Link urges him on with a tighter, faster grip. Rhett’s hands fly to Link’s shapely ass, and he digs his fingernails into the meat. One, two, three strokes later Rhett comes all over both of them with a shout. 

  
Link continues to jack them through Rhett’s orgasm, and, as before, Rhett doesn’t get soft and oversensitive as he should, but stays just as hard as before, and ready to come again, at Link’s behest. Link’s hand draws filthy squelching from between their bodies. His head is resting on Rhett’s shoulder, so Rhett impulsively sucks a mark into Link’s alabaster skin. Here, Link’s hand speeds up, and his hips judder and shake, then with a breathless  _ fuckfuckfuck _ he comes into the tight circle of his fist.

Link’s fingers move to the bruise Rhett sucked into his neck, and press on it with a hum. It sends electric tingles through his insides.

“Did you mark me?”

Rhett nods slowly. “Yeah… Is that—is that okay?”

“Do it again,” Link purrs, offering Rhett the other side of his neck. 

Rhett obliges him quickly and efficiently. This bruise is bigger and darker than the first. Link probes this one with a carnal groan. 

Then suddenly Rhett finds himself facedown on the floor. Link’s body covers him, and despite how thin the boy is, Rhett can’t budge under him. He feels Link’s slick, come-covered fingers dip into his ass crack and press into his hole.

A syrupy feeling settles into his bones, like he’s suspended in molasses. He can hardly feel Link’s weight on top of him, and his body thrums like a perfect peal of thunder rolling off the tips of Link’s talented fingers. Two long digits breach the tight ring of muscle, and Rhett desperately wishes he could push himself back onto those fingers right now.

  
He settles, instead, for begging. “More. ‘S so good. Fuck. Please.” He’s whining now, and Link doesn’t mistake his desperation for anything but the raw neediness that it is.

Link murmurs praise as he slips another come-drenched finger in next to the first two, stroking over his prostate, ecstasy resonates through Rhett’s body like music from a harp string. “That’s a good boy. You’re  _ my _ good boy, aren’t you Rhett? Taking my fingers, begging me for more. You’re going to love having my cock inside you. It’ll feel so much better than these fingers.”

A shudder runs up Rhett’s spine, and he chokes out a desperate sounding plea. “Please, yes.  _ Fuck _ . Want you. Want your cock.”

Then suddenly Link’s dick is there, pressing into him, firm, and oh so fucking  _ thick _ . He’s so much bigger than the frat boys Rhett’s drunk-fucked before, and he feels so goddamn good Rhett’s synapses are completely overloaded by the time Link’s pelvis is pressed firmly against his ass. 

Rhett can taste the tang of his own blood in the air before he even feels the pinch of the bite. The meat where his neck joins his shoulder is lit up with conflicting  _ painpleasure  _ sensations. Link swallows the blood that floods into his mouth, this isn’t about the blood. It’s about marking, keeping…  _ claiming _ what’s his. More than anything Link had done to him in the few hours they had been acquainted, this made Rhett feel coveted, and owned. Like, even after the bite mark fades, everyone will still be able to see who he belongs to. A blood-colored signature, staining him down to the deepest parts of his soul.

He realizes he’s babbling—begging to be fucked—he’s humping the ground, and fucking himself back onto Link’s cock. But with the boy’s weight on top of him, the movement is limited. So he begs Link to move  _ dammit _ .

Finally Link begins to fuck him properly. His teeth are still buried in Rhett’s neck, so Rhett feels Link’s satisfied hum all the way down in his solar plexus. 

Being fucked by Link is an ecstasy so pure and undiluted Rhett feels like he’s drowning in it. Every slick slide out, and firm thrust in carries him away on a new wave of pleasure. The earth beneath him feels warm and wet, and he is vaguely aware that the warm slickness is from him: the trickle of blood trailing down his chest, and his own precome spread under his hips. 

Link’s teeth are out of his neck—they must be, because Link is whispering into Rhett’s ear. “Mine. You’re fucking mine, Rhett. So good. You feel so fucking good baby.  _ Fuck _ , I marked you. I did. And now you’re  _ mine _ . So good for me. Shit. You’re so tight. Gonna mark you up baby—inside and out—so everyone knows you’re mine.” 

Link is hammering into him, and Rhett desperately wants to push back against his cock, Spread himself wider, meet those thrusts, and take Link even deeper. Link must sense Rhett’s frenzied thoughts, because he hikes Rhett up onto all fours. The strong, steady  _ whumpwhumpwhump _ of Link’s wings dries up the rivers of sweat that roll down his straining body. Rhett finally has leverage, and he can fuck himself back onto Link’s perfect dick. So he does with great enthusiasm. 

Rhett’s skin feels too tight. Each sensation is sharpened to a razor’s edge. He can feel the bones in his knees grinding against the ground; Link’s fingernails cutting little bloody half moons into the skin over his hips; the exhaustion pulling at his limbs; and he can feel the insistent weight of Link’s will exerted onto his body, keeping him hard, and alert.

  
Link’s growling praise against Rhett’s overheated skin, and he doesn’t even seem out of breath at all. While Rhett’s head is full of the deep bass sound of his own panted breaths, and each  _ pleasemorefuckyes _ that Link’s cock drives out of him.

Rhett’s limbs feel heavy, and he’s grateful when Link’s strong arms encircle him. His back is pressed against Link’s chest, and he can feel the strong steady gallop of Link’s heartbeat against his shoulder blade. This new angle drives Link even deeper inside of him, thrusting against his sensitive, swollen prostate. Link’s fingers wrap around his cock, and Rhett comes undone.

His orgasm arcs through him like a bolt of electricity, bowing his back, lighting up his nerves, and burning down his spine. He cries Link’s name when he comes, nearly shaking himself to pieces on Link’s cock. Link strokes him through the spasms, Rhett’s body is too exhausted and husked out to produce more than a dribble of fluid over Link’s fist, but Link licks it off of his knuckles like the gift that it is.

After that Link slowly begins to unravel, but he’s done in when Rhett’s head falls back onto his shoulder, and lolls against his neck, pressing against the hickey Rhett sucked into the skin earlier. The rich purple bruise on Rhett’s shoulder reminds him that Rhett is his now, after weeks of longing. And he, in turn, is Rhett’s. Link hugs the tall boy close, burying his face in the mark he’d left. He heaves a contented sigh as he fills Rhett’s ass with come.

Link gently lowers Rhett down onto the mossy ground beneath them. He plants a soft kiss onto the boy’s sweaty brow, and situates himself beside him.

Rhett is soaking in the post-coital bliss when the sound of thunder catches his attention. His moss-green eyes look curiously up at the ceiling of Link’s cottage. For the first time, he notices that the walls of the little house are indistinct, soft, and see-through, like glassine paper. He can see the sky, the trees, and the rain running down the false-roof in rivers. The ghost of Link’s fading glamour is beautiful.

As Link lulls off to sleep, the glamour on his body falls as well. He is filled with golden sunlight; a will-o-the-wisp grown to human size. He looks as if diamonds have been implanted under his skin, and the mid-day sun was given permission to run wild among the precious stones. Rhett can see the fine traceries of capillaries through his skin. He looks every bit as magical as Rhett supposes he is. Rhett wonders how anyone—most especially himself—could see Link, and not know he was pure magic. 

Tonight has been strange, to say the least, but Rhett knows that whatever—whoever—Link is, it doesn’t matter. Be it magic, a spell, or a glamour, Rhett is completely in love with the mysterious boy. He snuggles closer to Link, making himself the small spoon, but lying on his back so he can watch the sky. 

He heaves a deep and contented breath, and Link’s arm reflexively rises to cover Rhett’s chest protectively. He shushes Link, and twines their fingers together. Then Link begins to snore softly beside him. A moment later, the first of the raindrops patter softly onto Rhett’s face. 


End file.
